Resisting
by Slash'em Red
Summary: It's World War II and the Gotei 13 are stretched thin across the world's theatres of war. To compensate they have taken to turning soldiers from all sides into Substitute Shinigamis. This is a story of one particular substitute from France whose destiny will become tied to the future of both the Gotei 13, the Soul Society and a certain noble clan. Mainly about my OC.


**This is a story I've written out of curiosity about the role the Soul Society and the Gotei 13 would've had during World War II; the deadliest conflict in human history. This will mainly be about my OC and so far there will only be a limited number of canon Bleach characters appearing in this story. If you have a problem with that I highly suggest you deal with it in your on way ;)**

**15 May 1940: Belgium**

It was the late afternoon in which the mighty turning of what is the gears of war began to halt its life-consuming operation. The storms of gunfire, the ferocious roar of artillery and the massed advances of human bodies all seemed to end in respect of the fast retreating sun. The lowering of the sun and the rising of the moon did not guarantee one's safety however. Random muzzle flashes signified the deaths of many careless or unlucky soldiers who did not retreat to the safety of the line. For those who did not consider themselves careless the line meant food and rest from a hard day's fight. Jean-Marie, while not exactly careless, was slightly unlucky as he was ten miles out from the French-Belgian line. While most of his fellow Frenchmen and Belgian allies were eating and resting, as you do when you're safely behind the line, Jean-Marie and seven other men would have no respite until the moon completed its heavenly ascent into the night sky.

They moved quickly weaving in and out of destroyed houses, small but dense sections of forest and the metal husks of ruined tanks. In war one could never be too cautious. This is something that Jean-Marie understood even before he saw the gritty shade of crimson blood could be. He has not spoken to or has heard conversation from his fellow teammates. Jean-Marie savoured the temporary peace as he kept his rifle up, ready to engage with an enemy if one should be spotted. He looked at the faces of the other soldiers he was with. One would not be incorrect to say that all of them were several years older than him. A Parisian youth of sixteen with bright, icy blue eyes, fair skin and an abundance of thick brown hair tended to stick out as such. But when that same bright-eyed Parisian youth was probably the best shot in the whole battalion, his age did not seem to matter. As such he had not received the abuse that the other young men of his 'age' received from the officers. He was crouching behind the metallic corpse of a German tank when he felt a heavy hand clasp him on the shoulder.

"Hey kid, you 'll right?"

Jean-Marie turned his head around to face the origin of the voice; a clean-shaven, tanned face that belonged to the baker that lived down his street back in Paris – Simon.

"I'm fine Simon", said Jean-Marie with an exasperated look. He wished that he, and a few others, would stop babysitting him. "Don't worry about me being too tired I can take care of myself, you should know that". The response seemed to amuse Simon as he simply chuckled

"I'm just lookin' out for you Jean. I'm sure your mother would sleep better at night if she knows an old family friend was lookin' out for her boy".

Jean-Marie gave what could have passed for a slight smirk. '_You don't know anything about my mother monsieur Simon_'. While other mothers were left bitter or depressed when their sons left to fight against the Germans his mother seemed rather adamant about the ordeal. She was actually quite proud that her son leaped at the chance to fight. It must be a Japanese thing; seeking honour and glory in battle. Jean-Marie quickly pushed the thoughts of his mother out of his mind. It would not be healthy for him to think of her at this particular moment as that in turn would bring thoughts of home and homesickness was not something Jean-Marie wished to deal with. They all seemed to have wound up in the same patch of forest and silently fell into a march. Jean-Marie closed his eyes, following the sound of his squad mates' boots as a guide; listening intently for any sound that would seem out of place in the placid sunset forest.

As Jean-Marie opened his eyes from his momentary slumber he could make out the relatively small outline of the large chateau. He saw Pierre; a bald-headed brute of a man with a rather distinguishable moustache; rally the others towards a clearing off the forest trail.

"Okay" growled in his rumbling farmyard accent (as quietly as he could). "We're gettin' close. It's a pretty damn big house but from what the scouts report not many inside" he quickly looked at the chateau reassuringly. "Since that's the case we'll split in two. Jean, Lysandré, Cheren and Anton" making eye contact with each of them; "you's will go 'round the back door or whatever there's to go in by. The rest of you will enter through the front door with me", Pierre grinned madly, "Any questions? No? Good. Remember no survivors"; and with that he waved Jean-Marie's team away into the forest.

The team of four, led by Cheren, moved deep through the forest in order to reach the back of the chateau unseen; just seeing Pierre and the others move out of the cover of the tall trees. They heard the gunfire echo through the trees and quickened their pace. As they emerged from the forest towards the side of the chateau Jean-Marie could see a German taking aim through a side window.

"Contact twelve!"

Jean-Marie's body moved as fast as his eyes; raising his rifle and firing instantly. He saw the hazy outline of a body drop. The others were already taking cover behind a low stone wall and sprinted to the wall of the house when Jean-Marie gave them the 'enemy down' signal. He joined his teammates as they cautiously moved along the stone wall. As they neared the edge they could hear the boisterous voices of their German adversaries and, judging from the tone of their speech, were most probably scoffing at their attack. Cheren quickly and stealthily peeked around the corner, returned to face them and mouthed 'three' and nodded to all but Jean-Marie who nodded back. He would watch their backs while, hopefully, they would deal with the three enemies quietly. Like clockwork they all moved with one accord at an instance. Jean-Marie inched backwards out of the corner, listening to the silent muffles of Cheren and the others making short work of the three Nazis standing guard.

Hiding the bodies in the nearby bushes the group found, to their delight, a back door that seemed like it would lead to a storeroom or wine cellar. Cheren pressed his ear against the door listening for any signs of movement on the other side. He checked the door; locked. Cheren cursed as Jean-Marie signalled to the others to prepare for a breach. Cheren, Anton Lysandré and Jean-Marie piled on the door in that order and once they all nodded in readiness; Cheren kicked the door down. Time seemed to slow for Jean-Marie as he watched the door fly open. His trigger finger itched in anticipation but was disappointed for only a moment as frantic yells of German got his blood rushing again. Moving quickly, they burst out into the hallway immediately engaging with the shocked enemy. The element of surprise allowed the four Frenchmen to decisively eliminate their opposition in rapid succession and moved down the hallway towards the main foyer without missing a beat.

Jean-Marie could hear the crescendo of gunfire and explosions well before they burst into the foyer cutting into the flanks of their dug-in enemy. Jean-Marie moved quickly to a staircase where he could see the entirety of the foyer and began felling targets with prodigious precision. Cheren and Lysandré were both taking cover behind a dense oak table exchanging fire whilst Anton threw a grenade that he took from Nazi body to blow the large front door open, allowing Pierre and his squad to sandwich the remaining Nazis that chose to die like soldiers instead of dogs as they would have to execute anyone that survived.

Jean-Marie's mind was in a haze. In the rush of battle he lost all sense of time; submitting to instincts that developed through months of the battlefield. He moved frequently but never straying too far from his vantage point. Sweat and dirt gathered in copious amounts all over his face and hands and his body could almost start creaking with strain. The rifle was heavy and he was already tired but he ignored all these as there were still enemies to fight. The skirmish could've lasted for only less than thirty minutes but Jean-Marie felt like he's been fighting for hours. His vision began to blur as both mind and body both seemingly cried for rest. Just as he was on the verge of breaking he heard Pierre's voice ring out through the parlour.

"All clear"

Jean-Marie crumpled like a wet rag, leaning against the wall in exhaustion and promptly drifted to sleep.

He awoke to the wafting smell of soup. With his hunger provoked Jean-Marie moved towards the smell and found his comrades seated around a small fire with a pot of said soup boiling away. Exhausted from the day the squad of eight ate in relative silence, occasionally making small talk about home, how long it's been since they've shaved and freshly baked bread (on Simon's part). After dinner Pierre once again took to barking orders and the men began packing away their things and gathering the bodies to burn them the next morning. Jean-Marie spooned the last of his soup and begrudgingly got up to help.

It was well into the night by the time they were able to finally lie down and get some rest. Moonlight seeped into the room like an outpouring of fresh milk, illuminating with a kind otherworldly serenity. The snoring of Cheren and the constant fidgeting of Lysandré could be heard clearly in the perpetual silence of the night.

Jean-Marie in exasperation, and mild jealousy, twiddled his thumbs about the small, skull-adorned badge he held up in front of him. When they set out in the late afternoon on 'clean-up' they all knew that rest would not come until the moon rose at its highest. Unfortunately for Jean-Marie no rest would come for the young soldier until the moon, for all its eternal, ethereal glory would give way for the mighty fires of the sun. Sighing to himself, he pressed the badge to his chest taking a deep breath as he felt his soul separate from his body.

The soul of Jean-Marie, clad in black robes with a bloody sword drawn, looked upon the battle-scarred field with an almost pained expression. With a hollow's lifeless body dissipating behind him, Jean-Marie ran into the night filled with screams and roars of the deceased and hollow alike.

**Just to clear up this story takes place between the ending of the 'Turn Back the Pendulum' arc and the beginning of Bleach as World War II, as you probably know, took place between 1939 and 1945 while the TBtP arc ended approximately in 1901 and Ichigo Kurosaki's story (the beginning of Bleach) began approximately in 2001 (the TBtP arc began 110 years ago from the beginning of Bleach if you've forgotten).****  
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**Questions, Comments, Criticisms and Reviews are welcome.**


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